


Finished

by Pixiesnix



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A Stitch in Time - Andrew Robinson, Dump Trucks Full of Fluff, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Poetry, References to Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiesnix/pseuds/Pixiesnix
Summary: Garak writes a poem to his Julian.Julian writes back.A loving epistolary argument ensues.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 20
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first bit of poetry I have written since college, and that was a long time ago. I was inspired by Syaunei's most supremely excellent story, "Under the Blind Moon". I heartily recommend it to everyone, as it is an incredible work. The theme also references "A Stitch in Time", by the ridiculously talented Andrew J. Robinson. The poem and letters take place in the "Under the Blind Moon" universe. I hope you enjoy.

Finished

I am finished. Done for.  
But I’ve known that for quite some time.

I reflect as I watch you,  
the morning sun casting your skin a golden bronze.  
Gifting your sublime form its warmth as tribute.

Your lashes, fluttering against honeyed cheeks,  
like delicate ebon butterflies.  
Your mouth, soft and sweet,  
clever and wicked,  
curved into a secret smile.  
Are you dreaming of me, beloved?  
I hope so.

Your neck, my love. Sleek and graceful,  
mottled with the evidence of my ardor.  
I feel a slight pang of remorse,  
then smile at the memory of making the purple brands.  
Claiming you as mine.

Tender buds, sitting proudly on your slender chest,  
dark and delectable, like our Delavian chocolates.  
Only more sinfully exquisite.

Your sex, my love, nestled between silken thighs,  
tempting me,  
making my hands itch and my mouth water.

What a delicious feast you are, beloved.

Your eyes are closed, love.  
Part of me yearns to see them open,  
to favor me with your gaze,  
and see that heady mix--  
affection and desire,  
wonder and giddy mischief.  
And love.  
So much love.

I feel hardly worth your esteem, beloved.  
As if your ancient god Apollo  
had bestowed his blessing upon a lowly regnar.

I know you would argue this point, my dear.  
You would extoll the virtues of this tired old man  
with passion and conviction,  
love and respect,  
not realizing that you are proving my point.  
Showing me how very unworthy I am of you.

The need to wake you is growing.  
I want to tease you, challenge you,  
and marvel as you rise to that challenge  
with the intellect of a scholar and the zeal of a warrior.

Yet I rest easy, love, knowing that challenge will be answered  
with kindness and compassion,  
never going too far,  
for I know to hurt me is to hurt yourself.

Your heart, your soul, is too dear to me, beloved.  
Far too dear for my own good.  
Yet how can I hope to defeat such a force as you?  
To turn against a love my soul has been long fearful to embrace?  
Terrifying in its ferocity,  
encompassing in its enormity.

Tender as the sweetest kiss,  
Warming as that morning sun.  
Replenishing as a spring rain,  
Intoxicating as the finest kanar.  
It is a losing battle.  
But I’ve known that for quite some time.

So you see, beloved, I am finished.  
I imagine the years we have ahead,  
and look upon them without fear, without doubt.  
Without the pain that has hounded me throughout my existence.  
You have finished me.  
I am complete.


	2. Rebuttal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian reacts to his Elim's poem in a love letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Syaunei for not only inspiring this work, but for her suggestions and support. Thanks also to Obsidian_Operative for her added input and support. I continue to treasure their friendship.
> 
> WARNING: This work is hopelessly fluffy and a little smutty. Expect the smut quotient to only increase.

Mirror of My Soul,

I’m writing this on my lunch break, forgoing food for the opportunity to tell you how your beautiful poem made me feel. How long did you think it would take for me to find the PADD in my work bag? I read those breathtaking lines on the skimmer, you wicked Cardassian! I came into work flushed, my bag placed strategically in front of me thanks to you, you…gorgeous fiend! No wonder you gave me such a sneaky little smile as you said goodbye this morning, knowing my head would be spinning from the kisses you lavished on me. Was that part of your plan, my love? Or was that simply for your enjoyment? And mine, come to think of it…

I’ve spent the last few hours in a futile attempt to concentrate on my work, when all I can think about is coming home to you, tearing off those immaculate clothes and showing you precisely the effect your words had on me. I had to excuse myself to the restroom to ease the terrible ache, and don’t think I didn’t get knowing looks for _that_.

I think you know quite well how you make me feel, the way you make me melt with simply a teasing look or a softly uttered phrase. Your spell over me is complete, my enchanting Elim. Your eyes, your body, your voice, your touch…all have me in your thrall. I am no Apollo, my love. I am merely a mortal favored by an ancient Hebitian deity.

Even now I ache thinking of you, unable to hear your silky-smooth voice, or look upon your precious face. I want to gaze into those piercing blue eyes, feel them draw me in while all the while penetrating me to my core. I want to touch your body--so strong, so graceful, a masterpiece of scales and ridges, all of them mine. 

I know it will only be a few hours, my love, but that is not soon enough, not at all. I need you now, my Elim. I need your strong hands touching my body, those clever lips on mine, that powerful form pressed against me so you can feel how badly I want you. And I want you, Elim.

I want you like your Edosian orchids want water. I want you like a starving man wants a crust of bread. The brush of cool fingers against my neck—strange how they set my skin on fire. How do you know, my love? How do you know exactly where to touch me, and how and when, to reduce me to a mindless, boneless heap, laying panting and satiated on our bed? How do you know how to satisfy my every desire before I even know what they are? No one would deny you are a clever man, my soul. But your ability to please me borders on genius.

How do you know what to do, what to say, to heal every hurt, comfort every anxiety, right every wrong? You call yourself a tired old man, and muse that I would argue this point. Once again, my love, you show how very thoroughly you know me. You are quite wrong, my beautiful Elim. You are my strength, my courage, my ideal mate. You are perfect, my love, in all your complex glory. You are perfect for me.

And when I come home, my beloved, my cherished one, my Elim, I will show you exactly what a perfect fit we are.

Yours Utterly and Forever,  
Julian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Syaunei and Obsidian_Operative for their unending support and friendship. You made this lil' pixie's foray into Garashir fic possible. So y'all only have yourselves to blame. ;^)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks (or blame) to Syaunei, who inspired this work and encouraged me to share it. Her kindness and support are a treasure.


End file.
